


following a lover's path

by Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Crochet, F/M, Happy Ending, Kanera Week, Kanera Week 2020, Kissing, One Shot, Pining, Tumblr Prompt, prompt: love languages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:09:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26262445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome/pseuds/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome
Summary: Kanan goes in search of the perfect present for Hera, which is hard when her love-language is gift-giving, and his is decidedly not.
Relationships: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla, Ryoo naberrie & Kanan Jarrus
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54
Collections: Kanera Week 2020





	following a lover's path

**Author's Note:**

> For Kanera Week 2020!  
> Please be gentle, I'm only half-way through Rebels, with many episodes to go, but I absolutely adore this ship! (spoilers in comments are totally fine!)

Hera, in addition to being the best pilot Kanan has ever known, also holds the title of best gift-giver. Every being on the Ghost, even Chopper, had received more than one little perfectly-timed and well-thought-out present from her, every time wrapped with a tiny ribbon and a tag that only spelled out the recipient’s name in her beautifully ornate handwriting. The tags had puzzled Sabine and Ezra the first time they’d received them; they’re both young enough to have no idea that for some societies, years and years ago, the written word was just as important as the typed. Now, between the advent of all the new holo-tech and all of the hardships of a galaxy mired in a never-ending war, the writing styles are nearly a lost art.

So many things, Kanan thinks, have become lost.

And so many people, too.

It’s a sobering thought, one that nearly makes him collide with a small vendor’s booth, causing some merchant droid to shout at him, and a Gungan to shake their fist at his clumsiness. “Sorry, sorry,” he mutters, keeping his head down. He’d been a fool to choose Naboo.

He’d been a fool to even _dream_ of taking on this mission.

For Kanan, those tags were nearly as lovely as the gifts themselves. He keeps each one, safely tucked away, in a pocket against his heart, tiny tokens to ward off the dangers they all face every day. Every time she’s written his name over the years, she’s made the simple letters more beautiful, first adding a few embellishments, and now, most recently, crafting every letter out of delicately inked vines, with one single vine curling around the entire name, creating a shape that just might resemble a heart.

Or it could not be one.

He didn’t want to assume, not even when everyone they knew had started asking _when’s the wedding?_ Or _you two have been together for years, right?_ Or _ewwww were you two KISSING?_

Well, that last bit had been said by Ezra, who wasn’t exactly the best reference point for observational matters, so perhaps Kanan shouldn’t have included it in his mental file of notes revolving around the topic, _“does Hera want to get married?”_

It’s a large file.

Almost as large as his one labeled, _“is Hera Syndulla absolutely fed up with me?”_

He itches his beard, trying to regain his focus on the task at hand. Then, he adjusts the hood of the half-cape he’s wearing as a disguise, which also happened to be last year’s day-of-moving-onto-the-Ghost present. When she realized that the topic of day-of-birth was fraught with tension for many, Hera declared a different version of the holiday, and therefore, another chance for her to craft little presents.

The most recent gift he’d found, though, had been given for no reason at all. He’d simply kissed her goodnight, while she sat in her captain’s chair, busy working on some new crochet project, then, woke in the morning to find a small package at his door. She’d made him fingerless gloves, as if she’d heard his grumblings to himself about the chill from the engine room when he’d been attempting to repair things.

Perhaps she had heard him. Or perhaps, she just… knew. Neither would surprise him.

But right now, he needed to finish the mission so he could surprise _her._

He’s due to rendezvous in under an hour, and he still hasn’t come remotely close to finding what he came to the planet in search of. Granted, it’s also the third planet he’s visited in the last ten Core-Standard days trying to complete this mission.

It’s gotten to the point that Kanan would rather be mucking latrines or giving Chopper an oil bath or even taking on an Imperial Star Destroyer with nothing more than a wilted stalk of banthaweed as a weapon than continuing to shop.

A small part of him, the lazy part of him that enjoys naps and lingering mugs of bottomless tea with lots of snacks and allowing his beard to get scruffy, whispers that anything is fine, that Hera will understand the mission he’s on has turned impossible.

After all, the mission is for her.

For the two of them.

Which is why he can’t stop looking. There’s plenty of _good_ gifts around, _nice_ presents that she’d smile and thank him for if that was what he came back with. A Starflower tapestry woven on Alderaan. A holo-painting of the ever-changing colors of Bespin. Kanan rubs his chin, trying to imagine where they’d even put either item on the Ghost, and quickly decides that perhaps fine art isn’t the right gift.

His eyes land next on a knife with the tooth of a dewback as a hilt. But no. Their lives have been full of enough violence and danger already. A gift given from his heart shoudn’t reflect that harsh reality. Rather, he wants it to be a symbol of all the good that awaits them in the future.

He wants it to be _perfect._

Something as perfect as Hera. Something as thoughtful as every gift Hera has ever given him. Something that could thank her, not only for all those tangible gifts, the scarves, the gloves, the fresh-baked uj cakes and Meiloonrun candied tarts, but for the greater, more impossible to even comprehend gifts. Her trust. Her companionship.

Her love.

Kanan’s fingers trace over the carefully crocheted design on the edge of his gloves. She knew he fidgeted when he was nervous, especially when it was a situation that left him on edge without a weapon, and so, she’d made a thousand different little patterns on the gloves. Each time he felt his thoughts begin to race, he could use the tiny threaded paths to find his way back toward the calm.

Towards Hera.

A timer beeps, reminding him he needs to head back to the ship. Naboo lies solidly within Imperial territory. If they hadn’t had a second mission, a real mission here, then they never would have come.

And just as he turns to go, his eyes land on a tiny little booth, operated by a woman with dark hair and a soft smile. “Hello,” she says. “I’m Ryoo. And you’re in search of something, aren’t you?”

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I am.” His fidgeting stops as he leans into his senses, searching for any sign of danger from the woman. She appears about his age, and no ill will emanates from her. His gaze turns to her shop's storefront, which he now realizes is carved from fine Aayaka wood, with real Vishiala beetle-silk curtains. Even though it's a small outdoor booth, it's far more decadent than anything he's used to shopping at. To be fair, Hera would say he's not exactly used to shopping, either, given how much he despises the chore. “Although I’m rather sure I haven’t the credits for anything here.”

“You might be surprised,” she replies. “I try to get the right item to the right searcher, rather than the right price.”

“I see,” he replies, rubbing his patch of stubble. He’s fidgeting again, and knows it. His thumb returns to the path on the glove, following it even as his eyes follow the outline of the shop. The entire booth is filled with fine objects; ceramic bowls and beautiful necklaces. But one small item catches his eye. He lifts it. “Is this… this is a tool, is it not?”

She takes it from him, but only for a moment. “Perhaps. It certainly is useful, that is true. But useful things can also be beautiful, and surely, the most beautiful things are those that can create more beauty yet, is that not so? The galaxy is broken. We must do our part to mend it, with beauty, and with work.”

Her words sound almost like a half-remembered lesson from a lifetime ago.

They also sound like treason, given that she lives on an Imperial-controlled planet. But the words resonate. Isn't that what their rebellion is? A way to fix the broken things? Were their missions no different than the way Hera would unwind an old bit of fabric, turn it back to yarn, and create a new object with it? Strange, he thinks, to consider rebellion an act of art as much as of war. “And it works?” Kanan is no longer sure he's talking about the present, but rather, perhaps, the concept she speaks of.

“Of course.”

“How much?” He's ready to spill his whole credit pouch out, as foolish as it would be. The present, the sentiment, it's all perfect. Perfect like Hera. Like everything she does.

“Two credits.”

Kanan blinks. Ryoo smiles. “If that’s not right, I’d gladly accept three.”

Even the stale imitation-nerf steak they’d bought last week had been five credits. “Are you… sure?” he’d never been good at haggling, especially not when it was to ask to be allowed to spend more money.

She nods. There’s something oddly familiar in her nod, a resoluteness that reminds him of someone from a long time ago. Kanan blinks, but digs in his belt for credits.

“I think she’ll like the gift,” Ryoo says.

“How did you…”

“Your gloves. Those are Ryloth love-knot paths. I’ve watched hundreds of holo-tutorials on them, but I’ve never cracked their pattern’s secret.” She fetches a small silk purse and drops the purchased item within. “They say that the more someone loves another, the easier it is for them to crochet the path ahead. Because they can see it. They can follow it, when no one else can.”

“Ah,” Kanan nods, pretending he follows, when really he’s more stunned that there’s a giant, huge entry in h _is “does she actually love m_ e” mental file that he never knew. “Are these… love-knots hard to make?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she replies. “The best loves are never the easiest to find.”

That, he could agree with her completely. He takes the purchase and quickly tucks it into an inner pocket of his coat. “Thank you again.” He’s still stunned at the transaction, but he doesn’t have time to probe for further details. Instead, his finger traces a path on the gloves, marveling now at what they could mean.

“There’s one more thing.” She turns, digging through her various wares, until she tugs out a small metallic necklace. “Please. Place it on this, when you give it to her. Love, especially a love like yours… it shouldn’t be hidden.”

“I…”

Her fingers wrap around his. “Love can heal the galaxy, but secrets can destroy it. Trust me.”

Kanan feels the weight of the words, and finally, allows his Jedi senses to unfurl, allows himself to soak in all the grief the young woman carries. He understands now, that great tragedy, the greatest tragedy the galaxy has known in decades, has touched this woman more closely than most. Her words were not threats, but the pleading of one who has seen love go wrong.

“I promise that I will love,” he replies, the words feeling oddly heavy. “With kindness, with respect, and always, with openness.” Or at least, all of the openness that Rebels were allowed to have with each other.

“Then go, and enjoy the gift.” Ryoo holds up one hand in farewell. As he often does, Kanan waves, knowing he will not see her again. But still, he lingers in front of the shop, asking what he can of the galaxy, hoping for healing for the young woman, and for her planet.

As he leaves, softly she whispers, “and may the Force be with you.”

* * *

***

If there was one time Kanan wished he could somehow wrangle the Force into moving the time stream along much quicker, it would be now, as he stands before Hera, waiting for her to open her present.

She arches one eyebrow at him. “Impatient, are you, love?”

“I, uh. I just.” He rubs his scruffy beard. “I’m excited.”

“As am I.” And yet, just to tease him, she begins to unravel the ribbon slower than a mudbeast sinking into a winter hibernation cycle.

“Hera…” he whispers her name, knowing that everyone else on the ship is asleep. This is their time, stolen from their sleep schedules, paid for by their tiredness the next day. And yet, he wouldn't change a thing.

“Shh,” she replies, patting his cheek, before returning to her task. Eventually, she finishes teasing him and rips off the last bit of wrapping with gleeful fervor. “Oh, Kanan! It’s _perfect!”_

She holds out the necklace chain, allowing both it, and the pendant now attached to catch the fading lights above them. They sparkle like stars in the middle of a hyperspace leap. “I’ve never seen a crochet hook so small.”

“It’s extendable,” he replies, leaning closer to press the near tiny latch, turning it into a full-sized tool. That had been what had caught his eye. In some small, perhaps childish way, it reminds him of a lightsaber. “And it works. To you know… do crochet things with.”

“That is what they’re usually used for, yes.” Taking advantage of the closeness, Hera steals a kiss. “Although I’m sure I can use this as a weapon, too, in a pinch.”

“No.” He takes her hands, holding them both between his. “I…” He clears his throat. “Use it to make beautiful things, Hera. Warm and soft things. Use it for love. You could make a blanket, maybe, for…” he starts to blush, then, looks away.

“What, love?” her hand returns to his cheek, her thumb stroking his chin so softly. She'd used the term only a moment ago, had used it a hundred time before, but now... it felt different. Things _were_ different. The little present, and all it represented, had shifted their orbits closer together than ever before. Only time would show, now, if they could move together, or if they'd crash into each other in a final supernova. Hera's breath is warm, when she speaks, and it frees his mind from all the tangled thoughts he'd just pondered. “What would you like me to make you? Say the word, get me the yarn, and I’ll start.”

He leans in, pressing his forehead against hers. As always, he feels as if this moment is a dream, as if something this good, a woman this beautiful and loving, could never be true. “It’s silly.”

“So are many of your ideas,” she giggles, rubbing his nose with hers. “But that’s never stopped us.”

Us. It’s a beautiful word.

“I was thinking,” he tries again. “You could make a blanket. For us. For a bed we could share. For a child we could have. For…” For a future that they could do more than just fight for. That they could live for.

There’s a long silence. She closes her eyes. Kanan winces, wondering if maybe he’d misread everything, if maybe all the data in his mental files had been wrong. And then, she kisses him.

It’s a kiss unlike any other they’ve shared. It’s deep and wild, full of a longing that neither of them had ever yielded before. His hands run over her shoulders, then, down her arms, his calloused fingertips brushing so lightly against her softer green skin. He’s always known she’s beautiful, that she’s intelligent and talented and kind. He’s never imagined that she might love him like this.

Nor had he imagined he’d be able to love her back, measure for measure, kiss for kiss.

Then again, they’d walked the lover’s path for a long time together, now, undoing every knot, and stitching together a life.

Maybe it was no wonder at all that the answer to the unspoken question and the offered gift had been an unspoken yes and an offered present in return. Because he knew, just as surely as if it had a calligraphed tag on it, that Hera was offering him her heart. That she offered him so much. A present of time, of touch, of a moment neither of them had been ready for until now.

Until they’d finished walking the path and found the other, there waiting for them.


End file.
